


Safe Haven

by remesy



Category: One Piece
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Death, Drama, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Happy Ending, Heavy Angst, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-11-08 10:47:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17979890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/remesy/pseuds/remesy
Summary: A mysterious green haired soldier stops by Baratie during a violent storm. He meets Sanji, a boy who is impulsive by nature. Though the two have a rough start, they build a strong bond and share intimate secrets to one another.





	1. The boy meets a broken soldier

There was only a boy around the age of twelve, a man triple the age of the boy, sheltered inside from the screeching storm. Both remained silent as they individually concentrated on their own tasks.

While the old man focused on sharpening his kitchen knives, the boy became distracted as he gazed into the direction of the window instead.

The raindrops splashed and divided against the windows, rolling and tumbling under the relentless caress of the wind, its repetitive pitter patters like little fingers tapping against the glass, generating a beat to a song only mother nature was able to create, and it was steady, peaceful, cleansing; translucent and gentle. The boy was wholly entranced by the achromatic display of nature.

He squinted his eyes when he saw a disturbance in the center of the thick mist, a large figure approaching, but the outline of the shape was unclear.

"Oi, old fart!" his high pitched voice punctured the silence.

The familiar baritone-tenor voice asked, "What is it, Eggplant?"

"There's someone coming. I think it's a customer."

The figure approached steadily, and second by second the shape became discernible as a man, though the grayish mist still acted as a cloak around his form.

The old fart snorted in disbelief. "Stop bullshitting, Eggplant, who would be outside in this stormy weather?"

The boy stomped his foot on the marble floor tile and shouted, "Well, I'm not fucking hallucinating, you old fart! I'm telling you, there  _ is _ someone out there!" He directed his index finger towards the window to clarify his point. "Look!" He curled his fingers around the white window sill and plastered his forehead against the frigid glass.

In response to the boy's demands, assortments of noises were heard; a heavy sigh, a loud grunt, and resonating taps and clicks of Zeff's leather shoe and wooden peg, followed by a low grumble. "Hell, I would have never thought anyone could love my cooking  _ that _ much." A soft rumble of vibration was felt when the old man chuckled in mirth.

The blonde boy snorted, but remained silent otherwise.

When the sudden hollow echo of knuckles tapped on the wooden door, the two chefs instantaneously maintained an upright position to greet the mysterious customer.

There was a high sense of alert. The fact that a stranger was standing in front of the restaurant in the middle of the storm,  _ at night, _ it was kind of uncanny, also eerie, it tugged a memory of that one evening he and Zeff watched a horror flick to pass the time and boredom, it was fond at the time but currently it only expanded his fear to swell over his chest. His pulse quickened.

A man with quite the large frame was soaked to the bone from head to toe, he stood by the door with his brown foliage T-shirt that stuck to his chest, accentuating his muscular form, camouflage pants that hung loosely around his hips, an olive colored micro fleece cap that hid his hair, and a forest green duffel bag that he protectively carried in his hand.

His teeth were involuntarily chattering, "C-Can I stay here for the night? I don't have any money on me right now but I can pay later on, I assure you." He spoke with a peculiar accent which was rather difficult to pinpoint.

Zeff nodded as he closed the door behind the stranger.

"You must be hungry, I'll cook you something." He turned towards Sanji, "Oi, Eggplant, go fetch this man a towel."

When he spoke of the nickname, the boy straightened his back, alertly. He would've quarreled with his old man if the third party hadn't been in the room, but for the moment he listened obediently.

— «[=]» — «[=]» — «[=]» —

After having to acquire the requested items from the towel racks, the blond boy walked downstairs to see the man sitting alone, shedding away his provisions, mild thumps of his old man cooking in the kitchen above.

"Here," Sanji extended his arm to hand the dry towel over to the man, acting with great caution.

The stranger glanced up at the boy before silently taking the towel from his small hands. The blond gaped in shock when the man took of his cap, revealing the color of his short choppy hair.

"Your hair is green, sir" Sanji said without a beat, though it was an obvious statement to the man.

The stranger disheveled and tousled his damp hair with the white towel, then softly under his breath, he mumbled, "And your eyebrows are really weird, boy." His tone was monotonic, but it had an undertone of mirth.

Sanji huffed in response, "My eyebrows are not weird, you shitty cactus-head."

He smirked,  _ That was smart.  _ Sanji proudly patted himself on the back.

The man's brows twitched, but the rest of his face remained calm, stoic, professionally emotionless, as he replied. "Your eyebrows look like dartboards, you brat." He squinted and his gaze turned menacing, and Sanji gulped.

The boy let out a sigh of relief when Zeff called from the kitchen, "Sanji! Come and help me, you shitty Eggplant!"

"Yeah, yeah, old geezer, I'm coming," he grumbled, sounding peeved.

However, clandestinely, he was eager to help out; after all, the old man allowed the boy to observe his cooking skills while he performed chores on the side.

— «[=]» — «[=]» — «[=]» —

"You know I've heard about All Blue. It really does sound like a cook's heaven... Too bad it's not real. A mystical sea where fish from each of the seven seas gather?  _ Heh _ , get real kid. That's impossible, almost as unreal as Peterpan." A clear voice rang in the profound part of his consciousness, followed by a rather exaggerated snort. "Actually, you might be better off trying to find Peterpan."

A young, familiar voice heatedly argued against the mockery, stricken with vivid anger, "No, you're wrong! All Blue is real, you don't know anything!" His defense mechanism was in gear, dismissing any external opinions other than his own.

"Neither do you, kid..."

The man paused as he pondered over his impending words, seemingly hesitant. It was apparent that he did not want to be the one to burst the kid's unrealistic dreams. But with an exasperated groan, he resolved to coaxing the blond boy with appeasing words. "I know you're an aspiring chef, Sanji... But let go of All Blue. It's just a myth. We were teasing you because we knew you were going to believe it, so just  _ let it go. _ " The tone of his last words were urging and persistent; so persuasive and certain, and it managed to crush the boy's certainty.

The scene shifted, and little by little the older chef transformed into an old man; skin dry to the bone, appearing feeble and malnourished.

"All Blue is real, Eggplant, don't let those fools convince you otherwise. I was out there. I've attained clues about All Blue's existence, so... if by any chance you survive, go for your dreams kid. Life is too short to live for any other passion that isn't your own." Although the man was on his last breath, his words were the most genuine; most powerful.

In the faint distance, he heard his own voice desperately calling out. "Old man? Old man? Wake up!" The young emaciated boy choked in the midst of his sentence, tears threatening to leak."Please don't die yet..." His pallid fingers grasped the remaining fabric of the old man's shirt. "Help! Help! Anybody! Help! We're on this island!" His pleas grew dimmer and weaker with each word as though he was walking away from the scene.

Then a silence prolonged, until it was broken off by a certain geezer.

"We did it eggplant. Baratie is no longer a dream, it's a reality." The geezer announced with a subtle hint of glee in his eyes.

The boy's blue orbs trailed along the letters of 'Baratie' written across the turquoise restaurant. A sense of overwhelming pride swelled in his chest when he recognized the difficulties that he and his old man had to overcome in order for this dream to become a reality. "Old man," he began. There was a small tug at the corners of his lip.

"I'm going to find All Blue..."

— «[=]» — «[=]» — «[=]» —

The luminescence of the sun enveloped the room with its curtain of light, splashing its vibrant glow of red, yellow, and orange on every object in reach, and unfortunately Sanji was within its wide range. His fingers webbed over his eyes as he squinted at the harsh glowing ray of the sun. In a trance, he intensely gazed at the single yellow splotch in the middle of the white wall.

Unconsciously his hands moved to rest against his stomach, and an intense relief washed over him when he felt beyond just skin and bones.

It certainly had been awhile since he had a dream relating to  _ that  _ incident, that traumatizing event which had provoked the thought of death recurrently in the past. He had hoped the length of time would have had an alleviating affect on his wounds, but the essence of grief spilling from his eyes clearly revealed how affected he still was.

The yellow spot in front of him blurred, and trying to calm himself he meditatively breathed in and out, released the tension that had constricted at the pit of his stomach.

"If you're awake, come downstairs. That's what your old man said."

The blonde boy jerked up in response to the stranger's gruff voice, and his eyes instantly darted to the man's shadowy figure leaning against the wooden door frame.

However, before making any direct eye contact, Sanji wiped his eyes in order to remove any sign of weaknesses away.

"I'll be down soon." Although that stoic tone was meant to dismiss the older man, his presence remained solidly in the room, not budging an inch from his slanted position. Sanji inquisitively glanced at the figure when a heavy silence lingered uncomfortably between them. He wondered if the man had anything else left to say.

The stranger's eyes were rather dampened with curiosity and his lips were tightly pursed.

"What the hell are you looking at?" Sanji gruffly asked, rather impulsively, partially because he did not like the fact that the man caught him on a humiliating circumstance— and bluntly staring him down for it.

No, he did not like that at all. This man was a stranger, not even Zeff caught him crying ever since that incident.

The stranger merely snorted in response before walking away. Sanji saw his shadow turn to the right before disappearing behind the door. The chime of his earrings and his footsteps echoed, and became gradually dimmer before they were gone.

— «[=]» — «[=]» — «[=]» —

There were no customers in the dining room because the heavy rain was still persistently pouring outside, so the blond boy strolled back to his room after breakfast, to intentionally avoid any further awkward interactions with the stranger.

Sanji focused on the droplets splashing and bouncing off of the red tin roof of Baratie. Something about the sound was calming, it somehow enveloped him and took him to the focal part of his being. His subconsciousness drew forward and his anxieties subsided to the back of his mind, a sudden awareness of his surroundings intensified, such as that light contact of his bony back touching the flat wall behind him, his hands resting comfortably on top of his knees, and air entering and leaving his lungs in a repetitious manner.

However, that moment of mental engrossment left him as fast as it came. It shattered when his concentration dissolved into thin air and it only left the boy feeling empty.

"Are you trying to meditate?"

Sanji's eyebrows twitched when he noticed the man leaning against the door frame again, the same position he held this morning. "What the fu-"

The green haired man rudely cut him in the midst of his sentence, "I was bored." Then like the intruding bastard he is, his eyes freely roamed around the dimly lit room.

Sanji was a bit embarrassed that the stranger was glimpsing at little pieces of himself, like the photographs of him and Zeff, private fragments of memories a stranger like him shouldn't be viewing. "What the hell! That doesn't mean you can come in and go out of my room as you please, you grass head!"

The man snorted, "You're so naggy for a kid, are you sure you're not some old man tapped in some child's body?"

"Are you sure you're not some dumb ass moss stuck in a human body?"

A flash of annoyance bypassed the man's features, and he made an attempt to grab the blond, who was almost half his size. "You little shit!" Even in this dim lighting, the outline of Sanji was rather clear, the fact that he had blond hair helped a great deal.

In this small confinement of a room, any attempt to escape from the bigger man was considerably futile, so it prompted the boy to fight back— like a cornered mouse would. Growing under a proficient martial artist had its advantages. Though he was beaten harshly on a daily basis he was also taught valuable fighting techniques that a normal kid his age would have no knowledge of, and Sanji only hoped that his raw methods would hold him up against a fully grown male. The stranger's hands swiped at empty air when Sanji managed to duck vertically beneath in the nick of time. Given this rare opportunity, the boy wasted no time to swipe his foot across the air to gain heavy momentum; and in order to keep a steady balance, his hands remained planted on the wooden floor. Adrenaline pumped in his veins, his emotions ran wild, he felt thrilled to test out his own skills to measure out his capacity; however, in the middle of his reflexive response, his leg was caught midair in an undignified position as he was upside down.

"Damn you! Let me go!" Sanji flailed, feeling humiliated.

The man was approximately 5'9", he was able to lift Sanji off the wooden floor completely.

"You're such an annoying brat," he said as he rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. His occupied hand, which was currently clutching the boy's ankle, was held away from his body, because the boy was thrashing like a fish out of water. "Who taught you how to fight anyways?"

Strands of Sanji's hair hung freely in the air, and it revealed both of the boy's clear blue eyes.

From his frustration of being so helpless, Sanji growled under his breath, "Before asking me any stupid questions, let me go first, you bastard." The boy was experiencing minor dizzy spells for being held upside down.

"Cheeky little dartboard. You shouldn't be speaking so big after losing some pathetic fight,"

Sanji snorted in disbelief, "I don't think you should be speaking too big either. You just beat me 'cause I'm smaller than you. Give me few years, and I'll definitely be kicking your ass," he promised confidently. "Now let me down!"

The stranger clicked his tongue, then in a languid motion the bulky man almost glided across the room to drop Sanji, and the blond boy landed head first against a fluid surface, the weight of his body sent ripples across his waterbed.

"Annoying brat," the man grumbled under his breath.

Sanji's eyes sharply glared in the direction of the larger figure. "Why are you here anyways?" His voice came out in a rather brusque manner; in an uncharacteristically uncivil way. Actually, his foul mouth was something that had been passed down from Zeff, but it was still uncharacteristic of him to be so goddamn impolite to someone whom he  _ just  _ met.

The stranger tilted his head to his right so his fingers could run through his short choppy green hair more accessibly. "I saw you meditating when I was searching for the bathrooms, and I thought that you could use some help."

He was a man with little words, Sanji could tell.

Something clicked inside the boy's head, and from that sudden realization, a tiny smile tugged at his lips. "Isn't the bathroom right across from the guest room though? Did you get lost?"

An array of emotions bypassed the man's features, but the vivid streak of scarlet emerging across the man's visage was the most amusing out of all.

"You're blushing!" Sanji tauntingly remarked as he threw his head back to laugh his ass off.

"No I'm not, you stupid kid!" He retorted. "Stop laughing. It's not that funny."

"It's pretty funny. I mean, you got lost in a straight hallway!" Sanji tittered like some schoolboy. The edges of his crescent eyes were wrinkled in a manner where it was quite patent that he was enjoying himself.

The man simply observed, awkwardly. He wondered if all children were like him: moody and annoying.

But surprisingly, though his menacing features told another story, Zoro enjoyed the sound of laughter ringing in his eardrums. It relaxed him in a way not even meditating could, and maybe that's why he stayed.

— «[=]» — «[=]» — «[=]» —

"Zo-ro, pronounce it correctly, curly brow. It's Zoro." He emphasized his own name in order to drill it profoundly into the boy's head.

With a cheeky grin and a flash of his white teeth, Sanji repeated after the man. "Ma-ri-mo." His chin rested on top of his right palm comfortably as he sat with one leg crossed over the other "Did I get it right this time?" He asked for about the billionth time that night. He clearly enjoyed every moment of this.

Zoro groaned, "You're doing this on purpose, aren't you?"

With his large blue eyes which seemed to spill out innocence, he feigned confusion, "What do you mean? Doing what?" He even tilted his head to enlarge his melodramatic actions.

Zoro simply rolled his eyes as he leisurely leaned back, the waterbed beneath his dense weight sinking lower as a result. The kid was too outrageous for him, but it had been a while since he had last experienced such silliness. It somehow felt refreshing.

"Your name is Sanji, right?" He heard the name from the old chef before, but he wasn't too sure what he had heard exactly.

"Yeah..." The boy mumbled sleepily.

In the corner of Zoro's eyes, he was able to view the blond boy, who was in a fetal position in his overly large T-shirt. His thin arms were protectively wrapped around his legs and his eyes were peaceably closed. In that moment, he appeared to be nothing more than a small fragile child.

Although Zoro came inside earlier to help the boy meditate, he ended up having a foolish argument with the child.

A grown man fighting with a child, it really was idiotic, yet he had to chuckle to himself at the thought of how alike Sanji was to his friends.  _ They would've really hit it off, especially him and Luffy. _

He picked himself up from the bed and lightly landed on his feet, all done in a gentle motion to not disturb the boy. Then without looking back, Zoro quietly exited the room with a single thought in his head:  _ Now, _ w _ here's the bathroom? _

— «[=]» — «[=]» — «[=]» —

"Oi, Luffy, stop wandering around, this is a serious matter! If we make a racket, we might really get killed. Eek.. I don't want to get killed! I think we should go back. This is really dangerous! What if the enemy ends up finding us? I think I have the "can't-get-into-this-building" disease! It's serious! I'm dying... Eck... Ergh..." In a dramatic fashion, the man plopped onto the ground. One hand clutching his chest, and the other clawing the air desperately.

And as always, everybody completely disregarded his melodramatic actions, walked right past his 'dying' form without a glance.

"Hey everyone, look!" Luffy pointed out with excitement, stretching his index finger out in front of him.

Zoro turned to see where the boy was pointing at and he instantly noticed the rows and rows of heavy, very authentic weapons laid out in front of him. From grenades to torpedoes, this place had it all. But of course, a bullet proof glass was there to shield them from any intruders, such as them.

"What the hell, why are there so many?"

The word 'many' was not quite accurate because the supply of weapons seemed endless, stretched out across the hall that he couldn't see an end to.

"Oi, let's get out of here. This is a very bad idea." Usopp's voice was hushed into a whisper, and he seemed shaken by fear— more than usual.

The raven haired boy, who wore his straw hat, smiled brightly with his teeth. "Come on Usopp, this is an adventure! A man's romance is his adventure, isn't that what Yasopp said?" Although sometimes he was a real pain in the ass, the way he spoke about his passion really inspired a lot of people.

The long nosed man stuck his bottom lip out to visually express his uncertainty on the matter. "My dad did say that, didn't he?" His eyes traveled from his friends to the place, then repeated the action until a flash of determination passed his eyes. "Fine, Luffy, but only for few minutes, then we're out of here. This place gives me the chills. I have a really bad feeling about this..."

Since his sniper friend always had premonition senses everywhere they went, Zoro did not think much on them.

The three of them walked down the long hallway with caution (not really). The fluorescent glow that emitted from the weaponry containers were almost blinding, but it was the only source of light in this pitch-black hallway, so Zoro was grateful for them.

As the two idiots ran ahead to gawk at the showcased weaponry, Zoro's sixth sense began to disrupt his senses, so he told his group in a hushed tone of voice, "Come on, let's keep going. I think a camera is secretly observing us."

— «[=]» — «[=]» — «[=]» —

"You can stay as long as you like, you know. I don't know what a soldier like you is doing out here, but there must be a reason, and I'm not one to pry into another man's life and his choices."

The boy's deep intuitive understanding was impressive but it clearly originated from this chef with the ridiculous braided mustache. "How did you know that I was with the army? I didn't think that it would be so obvious."

"Intuition, plus your clothes." The chef gruffly replied. "And it seems that I was right on the mark, brat."

Zoro cracked a smile upon his visage when he heard that name-calling. "Who are you calling a brat, old man? I'm much older than the kid you own, you know."

"He ain't my kid but he is a son of mine. I don't reckon you know what I'm talking about though." Zeff loosened the blue ascot that hung around his neck with his forefinger. "That kid is different." Absent of anything important to say, Zoro simply nodded in agreement. "Recently one of his teachers suggested to me that he needs to be psychoanalyzed for 'anger management.'" The old man chuckled with good humor, evidently amused. "That kid doesn't need any treatment, he just needs to live a life outside of this restaurant."

Zoro raised one of his eyebrows from this peculiar response. His eyes watched the old chef's movements carefully, who was raising his glass of white wine to his lips.

"I assume that you joined the army on your own, then?" The old man inquired.

Zoro wistfully stared at the alcohol bottle, really desiring to taste some 'Savignon Blanc' as it was labeled. He missed that familiar burn of liquid traveling down his system in one fluid motion. Though his favorite was something with a harsher impact, like rum or tequila, wine was good too. Hell, they were all alcohol, it didn't matter the least to him as long as he tasted it.

He took his eyes away from the label when he realized that the chef just inquisitively asked him a question.

"Yeah, I'm searching for a man at the moment."

When his eyes unconsciously trailed back to the wine glass, Zeff stood up with a heavy grunt. "I'll get you a glass, and I'll pretend that you're legal."

His leather shoe and the wooden peg tapped against the marble floor, and the sound reverberated and echoed against the slickly painted white walls.

— «[=]» — «[=]» — «[=]» —

"How in the hell did we get into this situation? Can anybody tell me?" The green haired swordsman angrily spoke with a sword clenched in between his teeth.

Usopp had his weapon, a green slingshot, out and ready, open to fire at any time, at any moment. He was quite the reliable guy during times like these. Even his usual cowardice disappeared without a trace from his expression, which only left a brave man behind.

"Zoro, you got lost, remember?"

The boy with a straw hat delightfully laughed at the comment. "Zoro is so stupid!" He then clapped like a seal, expressing how downright hilarious this situation was for him.

"I shouldn't be hearing that from you, Luffy!" Zoro barked at him before charging in like a bull, direct and concise, with his swords ready at hand.

The male figures, dressed in black suits, were much wiser than those who took impulsive acts against a swordsman. They patiently waited with guns drawn rather than panicking at the sight of Zoro. They waited with patience for their prey to come closer, which was the most authentic evidence that they were professionals— brutal killers— and not mere amateurs, and the thought of such sent a weird sensation down Zoro's gut. What was he so afraid of?

"Oi Zoro, don't just charge in!"

In his mind he saw a vision of the two heads beings cleanly and precisely cut off. His sharp blades slicing through their necks in a smooth motion as if he was cutting through the wind instead. But in his eyes, he merely saw minor cuts across their chests, shallow enough to barely draw ounces of blood. Brutality wasn't really his thing. As a swordsman, he believed in the policy of having absolute mercy against his opponents.

As the swordsman withdrew his three extravagant katanas, he venomously growled at the two men, "Now get out of my face before I sever you guys for real."

He then turned away from his enemies and slowly walked back to where his friends stood.

Perhaps that was a grave mistake. Perhaps he should have followed his instincts and acted merciless instead. But that dormant demon inside him did not make its entrance until he heard those two piercing gunshots reverberating in his eardrums.

All of his sanity and reason became lost when the two bullets ran straight through his friends' heads.

— «[=]» — «[=]» — «[=]» —

Getting up at four in the morning was actually one of Sanji's routines (though he broke it at times), he found that he was much more productive during the mornings than during the nights; at nights he usually found himself wanting to relax. It also gave him about an hour to experiment with his own personal recipes before Zeff awoke to make breakfast for the two of them.

In the midst of his morning daze, he traveled down the hallways like a zombie, swung side to side in an unstable manner as he yawned every minute or so. Although he had slept for eight hours, he still felt so damn worn out and lethargic.

He heard the sound of water running.

_ Is that from the bathroom?  _ he wondered, his curiosity doing the walk for him.

There stood the green haired man, half naked, his head sunk beneath the pool of water as though he was desperate for it to sustain life, and when he finally came above his heavy pants filled the air. His bare chest expanded as he fervently consumed oxygen, contracted when he slowly and evenly breathed out. The air exhaled made sort of a whistling sound, and it showed how much control he had over his respiration. However, to the boy, what was most discernible about the stranger, were his eyes, and how maniacal they appeared. Mad, infuriated, unbalanced, but hidden beneath that shade of insanity was a hint of sadness.

And it was so unexpected, how the man began to cry. The tears fell so slowly, like the dead leaves during Autumn.

"I'm still weak..." the man whimpered, softly, lamentably, before he dunk his head inside the pool of water once more.

Hearing those words, Sanji became confused, there was a zap in his head like he was set back to reality, back to where the clock ticked ordinarily again. He quietly walked away before risking the possibility of being discovered.

He was awake by the time he reached the kitchen.

As he allowed his body to sink into the usual habits, like cleaning out yesterday's ingredients to use, sharpening the kitchen knives, and washing the dishes, he thought about a memory, when Zeff told him something important a few weeks ago. "Brat, being a man is about shedding tears now and then, now piss off."

It was strangely endearing now he thought about it.

Everybody cried, some cried for broader reasons than others, but the action was universal, much like every other set of human emotions, but somehow the boy was aware that there was more to Zoro's tears than those of an average person.

Another memory disrupted his thoughts. "Listen, Eggplant, I'll let you on a little secret. By exchanging blows with someone, it's possible to almost map out their entire life, do you get me?" At the time, Sanji had answered no mechanically, hoping to piss his old fart off, but it kind of made sense now. He didn't exactly 'exchange blows' with the green haired man, but certain things became clear after they had fought.

For someone his size and age, Sanji was one who exceeded his abilities as a martial artist. Not only was he able to fend someone off his own age, but one much older and robust. So, the sole fact that the man was able to beat him was quite significant.

In conclusion, Zoro wasn't weak, he was formidable.

Then why was he crying? Why did he call himself weak?

— «[=]» — «[=]» — «[=]» —

It was his third day in this hospitable environment; hospitable in a very unusual way, of course.

The old cook sometimes insulted him, but also treated him like a son of his. And since Zoro never actually had a fatherly figure in his life, the effort was quite endearing.

Sanji acted like a brother? No. That wasn't the correct label. He acted like a nemesis, a rival. He always had this tough facade on around Zoro, and constantly tried to pick a fight with him. Though Zoro wasn't much better. He always took the bait and argued with the little brat, a brat who was almost half his size. Luffy and Usopp would've laughed at him for that.

The storm had already passed by, but its remnants persisted on pouring, not that Zoro minded. Clandestinely he wanted to resume his stay here; he wanted to proceed arguing with that blond brat during the day and share his stories with the grumpy old man during the night. This average routine was somewhat intoxicating because this safe environment was placatory, if this moment represented him on a rowboat in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, he would be able to take a nap without worrying about a storm coming. It was pleasant.

However, being one who had encountered many near death experiences and suffered demises of many loved ones in the past, his opinions were a bit biased, the feeling that he had enough of these adventures and experiences that jeopardized his life.

Zoro laughed to himself.

What the hell was he thinking about?

Luffy would have kicked his ass all the way across the Pacific Ocean if had heard anything along those lines. That guy valued adventures more than anything, perhaps even more than his straw hat, and that straw hat meant the world to him.

As the swordsman traveled down to the kitchen, the second floor of the restaurant, he smelt the delicious fragrance in the air.

He saw the blond boy, wearing a white chef's uniform, minus the tall, round, pleated, starched white hat that Zeff usually wore, handling the frying pan with incredible professionalism, as though he had been doing this for many years.

"Oi, curlicue," he called out with a smirk.

Strangely enough, the boy turned around warily with a peculiar look in his eyes that spelled out caution. Zoro was a man of instincts and sixth senses, he knew when a certain situations were out of the norm.

"Your breakfast is downstairs," Sanji told him, his words hinting of dismissal.

The green haired man did not budge from where he stood. "Oi, cook, what's got your panties in a bunch?" he asked rather impertinently than intended.

Sanji's eyes fixed on him, and they were not as childish as they should have been, rather, they were scrutinizing, analytic. "Panties," he mumbled under his breath.

"What?"

The boy irritably crossed his arms with a sigh, "Idiot, if you want to ask someone what's wrong, you shouldn't say 'What's got your panties in a bunch'. That's so fucking barbaric, it's like you somehow survived the Stone Age and ended up in the modern times."

Zoro was wrong. This brat was the brattiest of all the brats.

Even currently, the way Sanji shook his head, crossed his arms, and clicked his tongue repetitively as though he was dealing with some neanderthal, it irked the hell out of Zoro.

The swordsman tried to remind himself that he was dealing with a child, a boy who was nine years younger than him.

So sedately, like a mature adult would, he asked, "Fine, what's wrong, curly?"

Slight hesitation, with a serious gaze, the boy replied, "You, you're the problem."

Zoro raised a brow.

One thing he knew about children was the fact that they were serious when they intended to be, so straight forward and blunt, and that's why he only had his silence to respond to Sanji with.

"I don't get it," the boy's body easily led to a slight pirouette of his feet, which led to a series of squeaks and broken sounds of his steps. "What is with you?" he inquired with dramatic and neurotic hand gestures. "I—"

"Sanji, get your shitty panini-ass downstairs and greet the customers!"

Before the boy could continue, Zeff summoned the boy with his commanding tone of voice, booming, loud and clear, even though it came from downstairs where the dining hall was.

Sanji groaned out loud in response.

"We're going to talk about this later, okay marimo?" His tone of voice was bossy and persistent, impatient, as he crossed his arms over his chest, and all Zoro could think about was how, under the glowing kitchen bulb, his curly eyebrow was really easy to make out.

_ How does that even happen? _

Since the impatience of the boy practically radiated off of him, it encouraged Zoro to deliberately speak slower and lengthier, in order to frustrate the brat even further. "I am Zo-ro, maybe your small ears don't function well because you keep saying marimo instead, but it's Zoro." He leaned back against the door frame, crossed his arms, as a mocking grin emerged on his visage.

The blond frowned.

Sanji's two fingers went behind his back to untangle the knot of his apron, "I will get back at you, you damn seaweed." He flattened his apron on the silver counter. "Since we don't have any workers around here, Zeff and I have to do everything. No one wants to work here because everyone's scared of the old fart."

Speaking of which, it never occurred to the swordsman how odd it was that only an old man and a kid ran a restaurant all on their own.

"I made breakfast, grass head, even though you could probably photosynthesize," the boy chortled, clutching his stomach in a fitful laughter.

_ Where the hell is he getting these colorful remarks? _

Zoro knitted his eyebrows together, squinted, thought to form some sort of a quick-witted response, to compete with the boy, "You got eyebrows that match question marks."

As the two pairs of feet traveled down, heading towards the dining room, Sanji turned his head one hundred and eighty degrees, a slight curl of the mouth, to say, "You're an asshole, moss brain." And before Zoro got a chance to retort, the boy disappeared from his side to pour some wine into a woman's glass, awfully charming for a child his age, casually stroking the lady's hand like that, then ignoring the husband's menacing glares.

Maybe he would grow up to be a skirt chaser?

— «[=]» — «[=]» — «[=]» —

As the drizzle patiently droned into the night, the voices from the restaurant slowly began to fade away.

And most customers taking their leave, left with satisfied expressions and stomachs, and a majority of them thought to themselves how interestingly odd the staff members were, like the green haired waiter who brusquely growled at the customers, the young boy with unique eyebrows who snarled in response to that waiter, and a barking old chef who ordered them to get back to work. Certainly an odd trio. However, the magnificent food was enough of a distraction to ignore all of those disturbances.

"Here, marimo," Sanji handed him a plate, Zoro took it without a word.

"Oi." Another one.

"Ma-ri-mo," the boy singsonged.

"Here you go, Zoro."

Zoro grumbled, "You don't have to warn me every single time, you know."

After he gently wiped off the liquid from the glass surfaces, he placed them into the cabinets.

The boy turned the faucet off, dried his hands on a hanging towel, as he grinned up at the man. His expression somehow reminded Zoro of Luffy's, how they were both childlike and bright. Though Sanji cussed like a sailor, took deliberate puffs of cigarettes in front of Zeff, his toothy grin made the swordsman remember how young he still was, and so very rebellious.

Earlier in the day, at one point during the afternoon, a customer, an old hag, as Zoro was pretending to be a waiter, asked him, "Why do you keep on frowning? I'm paying you for your smiles, not for frowns." She wore a plum dress that gave off an overly prestigious vibe, and her smile was, in fact, fake, like what she sought from him. She shook her wallet in front of her, to bait him, probably.

He didn't argue, just flashed her a sarcastic smirk. He knew how to pick his opponents, some weren't even worth his words. Luffy, the straw hat boy, the man he admired the most, taught him that.

Zoro respected Luffy, he left a larger imprint in his life than anyone he had ever met.

"Oi, Zoro, we're done here, can you—" the boy abruptly cut short.

Sanji paused, saw the upset expression, but he played it off just like how he did this morning. "You should sleep," he nervously laughed. "You're probably leaving tomorrow, right? Since the storm is lifting..." An uncomfortable silence lingered as Sanji avoided his eyes. "Look," the boy sighed. "You can come back any time, you know." He scratched the back of his neck. "I mean, you were one son of a bitch as a waiter, broke too many dishes, but you'll be missed... to do other chores, of course."

The swordsman raised a brow.

Was the boy trying to console him?

He wondered to himself, could friendships actually form between two different generations? The thought stunned him, not because of the question itself but because he had considered Sanji as a friend. The word had been almost taboo in his vocabulary ever since his loss, but it was brought back by someone completely unexpected.

There wasn't any reason why he told, he was an instinctual man, after all, but things were correctly in place, like the time and the person, and he felt that it would be a burden off his chest.

"My friends died," he said.

The boy crinkled his features, there wasn't a doubt that he was dumbfounded, as he opened and closed his mouth like a fish. He paused, probably to gather his thoughts, "Why are you telling me this?"

"I felt like it."

There wasn't a reason, it was just a feeling of trust.

Sanji's eyes remained affixed on him. "Zoro," he breathed out, closing up on him, fidgeting a step closer, as his gaze flickered to the ground in hesitance. He reached forward, grabbed the swordsman's shirt into his ball of fist. "I can't related, I"m sorry, I never had any close friends, but I know you're still hurt by it." He seemed to be having a difficult time conveying his emotions, putting them into words.

There was a silence.

"Oh, I know what'll make you feel better," Sanji told him, alert, releasing Zoro's shirt.

The boy went straight for the bottom cabinets, pulled out a bottle of whiskey. With that juvenile grin of his, brought the bottle over to the table and placed it with a heavy bang. "This will do." And if that wasn't bad enough, his fingers stickily reached inside his pockets for his pack of cigarettes.

Zoro would have objectified if the whiskey had not been so damn distracting. He could almost taste it.

"No one drinks heavy liquor here anyways, it's just been rotting inside the cabinet for the longest time, I hope you're a drinker," Sanji said as he took a heavy puff from his cigarette, lightly coughing afterwards.

"More of a drinker than you a smoker." Zoro gripped the neck of the bottle then brought the aperture closer to his lips.

For a few seconds the room remained quiet, only the sounds of inhales from Sanji and the gulps from Zoro were heard. Though the swordsman was comfortable with the noiseless, it was patent that the boy was not, as he twitched visibly.

"Tell me about your friends," Sanji inquired, as he leaned back against the white chair, smoking with his puckered lips.

It was amusing how Sanji acted all suave and mature when his body was so small.

Zoro ran his fingers through his green locks, closed his eyes. "I had two complete idiots for friends. One was a dreamer, always had the vaguest idea for the future, and the other one was a liar, a hell of a sniper too, they were both so different from each other but they got along like best friends. At a first glance, they were ordinary, but they  _ really _ were something." He smirked around the edges of the bottle, "I would have died for them."

"Me too," Sanji added on, but he quickly revised his previous statement when he met the swordsman's confused gaze. "I mean, I would die for Zeff any day, he saved my life."

"Pushed you out of the street or something?" Zoro asked harmlessly, recalling the old man's disabled leg.

He also assumed, based on both of their personalities, chivalrousness was a characteristic that they both shared.

The boy waved that assumption out of the air, "Nah. The old fart would have been able to save the rest of him with me if that had been the case, I think our story is more complicated, and pretty damn long."

"I got a whole bottle to finish, I think we got time."

Sanji glanced at the whisky bottle, wondered if the man was joking, then he snorted when he realized Zoro wasn't.

"Have fun killing yourself."

Zoro rolled his eyes rather dramatically, which was probably an annoying habit from this brat, but only because he heard this 'alcohol is going to kill you' bullshit multitude of times in the past, and not one did any of those comments faze him in any manner. He enjoyed alcohol, not much the affect but the taste, and he would be damned to give up something he enjoyed to lengthen his time on earth. That would be stupid.

"Oh well, I shouldn't be speaking, I'm the one puffing up cancer sticks all day," the boy grinned in a good-natured manner, watching the smoke steadily rising to the ceiling.

Sanji inhaled sharply before speaking, "I'll tell you..."

"A few years ago, I used to work for this cruise ship because I needed a job back then, I was all on my own, my parents had abandoned me, and the captain of the ship took pity in me. In the middle of the night, in the middle of a storm, a gang of idiots thought it would be a good idea to rob the ship, Zeff was their leader."

Zoro was surprised. Sure, the old man seemed vicious, but to go as far as to injure civilians in order to take their money? It didn't sound like him at all.

"When the geezer and I first met, I stupidly attacked him with a kitchen knife, he kicked my ass all the way across deck. But since my luck was really shitty that day, I fell straight into the ocean. The next thing I remember is waking up on a rock in the middle of nowhere, the only other person with me was Zeff, and I hated his guts back then. I remember trying to kill him a few times." Sanji lit up another cigarette, "The next part I'm going to summarize, it's not really pleasant to talk about."

The swordsman heard a slight hitch in the boy's tone of voice.

Sanji sighed, wearily, tiredly, it had more weight than a boy his age should have had.

"We shared a portion of the food Zeff managed to save from the ship, he gave me a smaller portion saying that I was smaller and that he was an adult. I hated his guts even more hearing that. We took the opposite sides of the rock to see whether a ship, a plane, or anything would rescue us. I was cocky at first, thought it wasn't a big deal, that this wasn't a life and death situation, that this was only one of those shitty weekends I could sleep off. But it wasn't that easy, we were on that rock for 85 days before anybody came to rescue us, and I only had food for about two weeks. It's a good things I split my portion smartly to make that about seven."

"What about Zeff? He had more food."

Frustrated, the boy scratched his head, "That's the thing, that shitty geezer saved me not just once, but twice. When I was crazy with hunger, I wanted to kill the old man to steal his food, but when I got there and opened up that big bag of his, I realized that he never had any food from the start. Inside that bag it was only money and jewelry, not a single piece of bread."

Zoro's throat clogged in a sudden realization. An assumption that was Sanji's reality.

"Zeff ate his own leg for survival."

With melancholy in his oceanic orbs, Sanji nodded, "Yeah. That bastard was a savate master, you know. They told me all the great martial artists heard of him at least once in their lives. I don't know why he exactly robbed that ship that day, but he threw away his own dream to save me."

Drawn, inquisitive, Zoro asked, "What dream?"

Sanji took a heavy intake of air, then steadily breathed out each word. "Have you ever heard of All Blue?"

"Nope."

A sudden burst of enthusiasm lit in his eyes, one a husband has for his wife, an artist for a painting, a dreamer at the sight of his dream.

Sanji grinned, childishly, as his eyes widened with jittery excitement, "Well, it's considered a paradise for all of the cooks, like a fairy tale, it's too good to be true!"

He sat back comfortably against the spine of his chair, cleared his throat, "Ahem... I'll tell you all about it... Zeff and my dream... All Blue..."

— «[=]» — «[=]» — «[=]» —

A meadow.

Surrounding him, he saw an endless field of green, gold, pale yellow, and other variety of natural colors. There were two figures standing ahead of him, but the light seemed to emit at an exact angle where it obscured Zoro's vision.

However, he heard those obnoxious and familiar laughter, and his heart tugged with emotions. He ran forward.

"You're late, Zoro," the man, wearing khaki overalls, with his long nose poking into Zoro's cheeks, said with a light chuckle.

"Don't make fun of him, Usopp, he probably got lost," the boy with a straw hat guffawed, making fun of the man.

If the swordsman was not shocked enough, another voice behind him caught his attention. "Oi, marimo," it said, with a grouchy tone of voice, different but recognizable.

He whipped his head around and saw those dumb curly brows, except they weren't on a boy but rather a grown man, with long legs, muscular arms, and masculine features, he even had a bit of a chin hair going on there, and a deep, velvety tone of voice.

"Are you Sanji?" Zoro asked.

As expected, the blond snorted, "Are you drunk, marimo?"

The swordsman pinched the bridge of his nose. "Maybe I am," he answered.

Sanji lit up a cigarette. In his well tailored black suit, with a striped tie and a long-sleeved, buttoned up shirt, he appeared tall and lean. The silky strands of his blond hair, however, along with his unique eyebrows, had remained the same as before.

All of them began to head towards the sea, and they were as lively as ever. It had been far too long since he last felt such peace, Zoro thought.

When his foot hit the deck, he wondered why he was on a ship, but he quickly discarded that thought.

"You woke up, Zoro," an orange haired woman exclaimed.

A sinking feeling of deja vu played a symphony in his heart, he felt those mysterious faces and the current situation beginning to click in his brain. This ship, these people, and the adventure they were having, these memories all came back to him. A light grin tugged at the corners of his lips as he let out a relieved chuckle. "Yo," he greeted the crew with that rare smile of his.

Then, right above his ass, a foot propelled him forward, causing Zoro to almost lose his balance.

"Shitty cook!" he hissed, venomously, instinctively reaching for the swords at his hips.

The cook had a smirk on his face, a rather inviting expression that managed to push the swordsman off the edge of his composure. "Sit the fuck down, marimo, or no booze for you."

For the booze, Zoro thought, as he took a seat in between Luffy and Usopp.

He couldn't help but to feel that this life was meant for him, even when half the times his neck was in danger. The thrill of passionately chasing after his dreams, having a fatherly figure back in East Blue, having a crew that acted as his family and friends, they were all meant for him. And although, deep in his heart, he knew that there was another world waiting for him, one that had a more painful reality, for the time being he wanted to enjoy this life, even if it was just a dream.

— «[=]» — «[=]» — «[=]» —

Into the duffel bag, he tucked in a few T-shirts that he wore the nights before, his folded military uniform, Luffy's straw hat, and a few necessities like food and water he got from the old chef; and next to the bag were his katanas, magnificent even in their sheathed forms, each and one of them with pasts of their own, carefully designed by blacksmiths from all around the world and time periods.

He felt a presence behind him.

"You know, if you're going to miss me you should tell me instead of creeping up on me like that," he told the boy.

Sanji clicked his tongue, clearly agitated, "No one's going to miss an idiot like you..." He paused, lips pursed, forehead crinkled, before hesitantly saying, "I mean, you can stick around... we need all the help we can get around here, and I don't think you're scared of Zeff... I can teach you to cook, and since the business is going up we can pay you everyday, so—" Sanji swallowed, as though abruptly realizing how ridiculous he sounded. "You don't have to..."

Zoro shook his head as he threw the green duffel bag over his shoulders, "Save the sentimentalists when I die. I'm coming back, you know. Hate to say it, but I'm kind of attached to this place, and free food is always good." He flashed a wide grin, which revealed his teeth.

The boy blushed, turned red, whatever, appeared flustered, before he muttered, "Who says you're getting free food, stupid marimo."

The swordsman snorted, "Cheap ass cooks." He re-adjusted the green micro fleece cap on his head, concealed his green hair once more.

"I heard that, you shitty swordsman!"

Impulsively, as Zoro walked past the boy, he ruffled Sanji's little perfectly combed blond head, murmured, "Dartboard brow brat."

"Don't mess up my hair, dumb mosshead!"

Perhaps, the swordsman thought, he will miss the back and forth jibes between the two of them, though there was clearly an age difference that should have distinguished who was the adult in the friendship. But, nonetheless, he will miss the boy's hot temper and his foul mouth, the childish remarks that had depth at times, the versatile abilities between his fighting and cooking abilities, and his All Blue, Zoro wanted to see it happen.

However, it was because he wanted to see it happen that he had to leave, for he had his own dreams to fulfill and nothing was to stand in his way.

He thanked Zeff for his hospitality on his way out, and the damn old man gave him a hard conk on his head with his wooden peg, yelled, "Just get out of here, you shitty grass head!"

And although Zoro responded with a fighting spirit of his own, all dispersed when he heard Zeff say, "Don't catch a cold out there, you hear?"

Zoro thought that perhaps he does have a home to come back to.

As he did before, he traveled with the light duffel bag hanging down from his hand, his swords clanking inside, walking down the pavement of the town that was close by the restaurant.

He thought of the cooks, grinned, because he couldn't help it, he was back on track to be the greatest swordsman because some brat told him about  _ his  _ own dream, preached that dreams were what made lives worth living. Sanji had picked up the shattered pieces of Zoro's passion then slapped it back into him, with a little bit of zest and anger; and for the first time since his friends' deaths, Zoro felt somewhat relieved, liberated, because he realized that those two had, in actuality, died with no regrets, had lived a life to the fullest, died with smiles on their faces. Rather than mourning because they had died, he should be jubilant because they had lived.

Now it was time for him, the living, to move on and make the most of his life.

Though it was rather a silly way of honoring his friend, he believed Luffy wouldn't have minded.

He placed the straw hat on his head, and in his place, along with his journey to find the greatest swordsman, he made it an objective to return the hat to Shanks, the man who gave it to Luffy in the first place.

Perhaps it was his duty as a soldier to go back and protect the country, but he walked away from his so-called fate, and instead decided to go on an adventure, a journey to find Dracule Mihawk and Shanks, to honor himself and his friend.

The straw hat shaded his face, but his smile was as visible as, well, the road ahead of him— quite vague and unclear.

 


	2. Five years later

"Do you see this?"

That crooked nose of his.

"There's a fucking bug in it."

Those bulging eyes.

"Did you make this?"

That uneven jawline.

The waiter gritted his teeth, contained his composure for the sake of the dashing lady by the bastard's side. "Yes," Sanji answered with a charming smile, to piss the guy off and to seduce the woman.

His lips curled into a nasty grin, "As a renowned food critic, I will write a review that the food here is terrible and that the restaurant is infested with filthy insects and rodents."

As the asshole laughed like a maniac, brewing anger washed over Sanji's senses and composure, and it was never a good thing for a short tempered cook like himself to lose his reasons. "Look at this prick's face, honey, he's so scared that I'll actually do it. That's what he gets for picking a fight with an influential man like myself," the ass told the beautiful woman by his side. The man stood up, picked up the bowl of soup that had the tiniest insect inside of it and poured it all out onto the marble floor, dropped the plate as well, then took his seat again to pour himself another cup of wine, still laughing to himself.

As his hands reached out for the wine bottle, in a quick fluid motion Sanji's leg cleaved the table into two, jamming the man's fingers as a result. The dumb bastard cried out in pain, and a look of shock and fear became exposed on his ugly, distorted face.

The lady gasped as she pulled away from the table to protect her own hands.

Behind Sanji, he heard the whole restaurant shush into a complete silence, all eyes probably resting on the scene. However, he didn't give any flying fucks, he was too angry to care.

The waiter roughly grabbed the collar of the man's shirt, lifted him off the ground.

In a deadly tone of voice, a voice so low that only the bastard could hear him, Sanji growled, "I guess I would have to kill you then, you damn rat." He bared his teeth like a wild predator.

All the colors drained out of the rat's face, his eyes bulged from his eye socket. "Guwah..." he choked on his words. "Let me go," he gasped out.

For a millisecond there the waiter actually thought about the 'request', but decided to ignore it. "You made three grave mistakes, you asshole. First, you insulted my cooking. Second, you wasted food in front of my eyes. Third, you threatened to shut down this restaurant. I don't give a rat's ass who the fuck you think you are, but if you're threatening to harm my old man's restaurant, to close it down, I'm not letting you get out of here alive." He could see the other chefs in the corners of his eyes, seemingly hesitant whether to intrude or not, to stop Sanji or not.

"I-I swear, I swear I won't do anything. Just let me go," the rat answered with a trembling tone of voice.

Under any circumstances, it did seem like the man was the victim here and Sanji the bully. He hated dealing with cowards like him.

Before making any further movement, something happened, his blond hair got tousled by the wind and he heard the doors creaking open, it tempted Sanji to turn around and look.

And in that moment, the very form of platitude came into play as his eyes locked into  _ his. _

_ It's him. _

When he saw that dumb green hair and the three swords hanging by the man's waist, his lungs constricted into a ball until it became hard for him to breathe. His hands released the bastard's collar, and subsequently, the man dropped onto his ass with a heavy thud; at the golden opportunity, the asshole skittered away like a roach across the marble floor, then sprinted out the door as fast as humanly possible. The woman who came with him appeared to be utterly humiliated and irked, she hid her expression with a red scarf as she passed by the green haired man and out the door without a word. Sanji would have given her the comfort for her shitty date if he had not been too distracted himself.

The whole restaurant had followed Sanji's hypnotized gaze and they also curiously glanced at the new customer.

By the entrance stood a ragged man in tattered green clothes. He appeared homeless at a first glance, and perhaps he was, but his expression was not one to be sympathized. Sanji couldn't explain what was so different about the man but there were some inexplicable changes that internally occurred within the green haired swordsman.

"Holy shit," Sanji mustered up to say.

Zoro squinted his eyes in confusion, probably to search around for the little blond boy he remembered. "Cook?" he questioned aloud for everybody to hear, but it only took him a couple more seconds to find one of the fewest blonds in the dining room.

"Oi, cook." A faint smile ripped across the swordsman's face when his eyes met Sanji's, one that was mischievous and playful. "Did you miss me?" he asked, sounding so goddamn full of himself, as he leaned against the entrance door.

"Holy shit," Sanji muttered again.

Zoro raised a brow, "Don't you have anything else to say other than 'holy shit', shitty cook?"

God dammit, the cook hated him, his goddamn face, his personality, his voice, and everything about him. But Sanji did admittedly miss the swordsman, why else did he jog forward to pull the man into a tight hug?

He grabbed the back of Zoro's neck and pulled him closer, inhaled the smell of steel and the smell of the morning dew from him as Sanji buried his nose into the crevice of his neck.

The fraction of intimacy they shared in that split second expressed more than a thousand words that they could have argued instead, and the swordsman seemed to have lost his usual stoic composure because he croaked out, "Wha-"

When the realization had settled in, Sanji pulled away, embarrassed, muttering, "Idiot." He felt the rising heat soaking up his cheeks, pink tinge spreading across his visage.

Someone from the room groaned.

"Just come in already and stop acting like a couple on their first date," the stupid old fart said with a loud click of his goddamn tongue. "You idiots are giving me a headache."

The cooks from upstairs snickered among themselves, called Sanji an idiot. It wasn't anything new, they always laughed when Sanji received shit from his old man.

Sanji shot a nasty glare towards Zeff, spat, "I was  _ not, _  no—  _ we _  weren't acting like a couple."

It was bad enough that he had fucking  _ embraced  _ the man in front of all the customers and the chefs, he didn't need anymore crap from Zeff as a reminder.

"We were manly hugging, you know, the type  _ friends _  do. Stupid senile old man..."

The marimo perked up, interrupting the two heated chefs, "Oh, so you consider me as a friend now?"

Sanji rolled his eyes, "Shut up." He pursed his lips.

The old man grinned at the scene, stared at his son casually interacting with his first friend. From the beginning, Zeff somehow knew that Zoro was someone whom Sanji could be himself with, argue with, share profundities with, it was a father's intuition sort of thing; and although there was that age gap between them, they were still able to interact as two old men who had known each other all of their lives. Now that the two Eggplants were finally together again, the restaurant was sure to be noisier than ever, but for some hell of a reason Zeff was looking forward to it.

Perhaps he  _ is  _ going senile like the brat said.

"Don't you dare call me a 'child.' I'm all grown up, can't you see?"

"No."

"Shitty marimo."

"Stop being such a child."

"I'm not being a child.  _ You  _ are being a child. Just because you are a few years older than me—"

"Nine to be exact."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Just because you're about nine years older than me, does not mean I'm any less mature than you. I clearly have more experience in the field of women and cooking."

"I don't doubt you about the cooking part, but you seem like a virgin to me."

A moment of silence for Sanji's dignity going down the drain.

The whole restaurant had a fit after that, the chefs from upstairs strolled down to give the swordsman a warm welcome, and even some customers who had a little chuckle eventually went back to their lunch; however, Sanji simply froze in place with his mouth open, shocked and speechless, because for once someone had beaten his clever mouth at his own game.

The old man had realized in the past that Sanji was sensitive to the topic of sexual activities, so it only took him a couple of seconds to figure out that the brat would remain a virgin for awhile.

"Come in, Eggplants, let's have some lunch."

As Zeff shifted away from the boys, he saw from his peripheral vision that Zoro's arm had wrapped around Sanji's shoulder to get him moving, and only a few others could see that their head chef had the sliest grin on his face.


End file.
